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1837-1920
TOSSING his mane of snows in wildest eddies and
tangles,
Lion-like March cometh in, hoarse, with tempestuous
breath,
Through all the moaning chimneys, and thwart all the
hollows and angles [death.
Round the shuddering house, threating of winter and
But in my heart I feel the life of the wood and the meadow
Thrilling the pulses that own kindred with fibres that lift
Bud and blade to the sunward, within the inscrutable shadow,
Deep in the oaks chill core, under the gathering drift.
Nay, to earths life in mine some prescience, or dream, or
desire [goes
(How shall I name it aright?) comes for a moment and
Rapture of life ineffable, perfectas if in the brier,
Leafless there by my door, trembled a sense of the rose.
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